


gave me no signs

by hippohead



Series: invisible string [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: Fluff, Klainetober, Light Smut, M/M, also maybe the light smut is just smut?, best read after 'tying you to me' and 'were there clues i didn't see?', but just know i wanted to, it took everything i had in me to not reference brokeback mountain in this, low-hanging fruit and what not, prompt: full moon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:34:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26922955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippohead/pseuds/hippohead
Summary: Blaine has finished up his run on Broadway and is getting started on his next album, having to spend time in LA with his label despite recording the album in New York. And Kurt is handling it well, mostly, but he gives in to the missing him on Halloween because he'd had to shelve couples-costume ideas and there's wine involved in the sadness. But then he has sex with a cowboy, so it ends up being a pretty good Halloween, actually.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Series: invisible string [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939687
Comments: 28
Kudos: 90





	gave me no signs

**Author's Note:**

> My reasons for writing this are as follows: it's Klainetober, apparently I'm not done with this reunited Kurt & Blaine, and I love the moon so I had to write something for this prompt. Also, like. Cowboys. Happy Halloween month to them and to you and to us.

Kurt wasn't going to lean into the melancholy, but it's midnight and he's wrapped up in a blanket on the fire escape with a glass of wine in his hand, staring wistfully at the sky as if it has the answers or a reason, and so he supposes he's well and truly leant into the melancholy. His Judy Garland vinyl is playing softly from the living room and he can just about hear her singing, _I Hadn’t Anyone_ _Till_ _You._ Maybe he’s leaning too much. 

It's not like they didn't talk about it. They’d talked about a lot, actually. Everything, in detail, with a depth they just couldn't have when they were teenagers. This time was different and they could feel it. It felt like more of a certainty. They were still young in the grand scheme of things – just turned twenty-four – but there was a foreverness in the way they kissed. And so when Blaine had brought up that despite his move to New York, there would still be travel and distance involved, Kurt had nodded and told him he could handle it with an assurance that probably wasn’t warranted. 

Any time they spent apart was never going to be those five years, though, and it would always pass and Blaine would always come home. He would walk into their apartment - because paying rent for two had become silly very quickly - with a look in his eyes that Kurt had learnt was a cocktail of relief, and love, and here. He was here. 

Except, he _wasn’t_ here right now. He was in Los Angeles – had been for three weeks, and still had another week before he was due back. Even though he was going to be recording his music at his friend’s studio in Brooklyn, his label and manager and their meetings were all back on the West Coast. He was trying to figure out how to move it all East seamlessly, but it was proving tricky. Blaine had resigned to the travel for now and Kurt was busy enough with work and loved him enough to stay stable and grounded and wait. 

But tonight was Halloween. Kurt loved Halloween. He loved dressing up and making his costumes into art and playing a part. Rachel had invited him to a party but he knew it would be full of Broadway people and them asking after Blaine. He couldn’t take a whole night of explaining and feeling out of his depth and lonely. Which is what had led to the wine and the Judy and the fire escape. 

He was just about to shake himself, roll his eyes and give himself a pep talk when his phone rang from his pocket, and it’s almost as if Blaine knew about the melancholy. When he answers the phone with his boyfriend's name, it’s an exhale, content and longing. 

“Kurt. God, it’s good to hear your voice.” 

“You heard it yesterday,” but he’s smiling. 

“What are you doing?” 

Kurt pulls the blanket around himself and wonders if he should lie. He could just give Blaine ease; tell him he’s watching a scary movie or getting ready to go to Rachel’s party. He doesn’t have to know that Kurt is sad right now, when there’s not really anything he can do about it. But then he remembers that Blaine also loves Halloween, and is probably sad, too. “I’m looking at the full moon and missing you.” 

Blaine chuckles in a way that’s a comfort, like he’s thinking of Kurt sitting here looking up and finding fondness, “That’s crazy because I’m doing the exact same thing.” 

“Really?” 

“Really really.” 

Kurt tips back the last of his wine and sets the glass down next to his feet. “Well, not the exact same thing. You’re looking at the west coast moon and I’m looking at the east coast moon,” he points out. 

Blaine hums, and then, “You do know they’re the same moon, though, right?” 

Kurt laughs because yes, he definitely does. But, “It doesn’t feel like they are.” 

“Yeah,” Blaine says, his voice quiet for the first time since he called. Silence settles between them, between the phones holding them together, and it feels nice. Just to know they’re still on the other end even if they need a second to think. And then Blaine speaks again, “When I woke up this morning, all I could think about was how much I hated the fact that I wasn’t going to get to see you pulling on some intricate and entirely tempting costume tonight.” 

There had been a sweetness in Blaine’s tone that completely juxtaposed the flirt he was trying to get across. There had also been a bunch of shuffling and scuffing in the background and Kurt wants to ask where Blaine is or what he’s doing to make so much noise, but it doesn’t seem like the right time. “I’m not dressing up this year, so you’re not missing out on anything.” 

“Oh. That’s a really big shame.” 

Kurt frowns down at his feet and empty wine glass. “Why?” 

“Because I came all this way.” 

He hears the words through the phone and through their open bedroom window. And he waits a moment to look because it sort of feels like if his ears are tricking him, he won’t be able to breathe. The call clicks off and Kurt turns his head, sees Blaine standing there; phone in his hand hanging by his side, the goofiest smile on his face. 

It’s his favourite blanket but he just leaves it there, out in the air that has a Fall chill clinging to it, because he couldn’t care less about it when Blaine is in Los Angeles and is also standing in their bedroom. 

“Blaine? What are you doing here?” But he’s hugging him so suddenly that Blaine doesn’t have a chance to reply. And Kurt is so overwhelmed by it all that he doesn’t even notice the cowboy hat sitting on Blaine’s head. 

They fall back to smile at each other, still connected because Blaine has grabbed Kurt’s fingers and they’re hanging loosely between the pair. “Flying across the country to surprise each other is kind of our thing.” 

It’s a nod to how this all started, or started again, and Kurt wants to dig in to the feeling of remembering that weekend a bit more but the cowboy hat has finally settled in and he looks his boyfriend up and down. He’s wearing washed out jeans, a tight-fitting flannel and a brown waistcoat. The oft-worn bowtie is nowhere to be seen; a bolo has taken its place, and the outfit is tied together with cowboy boots. He looks like he’s just stepped off the set of an old Western. Or out of one of Kurt’s fantasies. A fantasy he’s only just realised exists but now knows it very much does. 

Blaine catches his eye, clocking the very obvious assessing that Kurt is doing and knowing, somehow, that the assessing has quickly turned into appreciating. The corner of his mouth quirks and he says, voice deep and rough but the glint in his eyes gives away the tease, “Howdy, partner.” 

Kurt doesn’t know if he wants to groan or laugh at that, so instead he just says, “Oh my god, you are such a dork,” but it’s charged. Like there’s gravel in his voice, too. And suddenly his cowboy is pushing him up against the wall – or, half-wall and half-windowpane, but there’s not a single part of him that’s bothered by the lack of comfort. 

Blaine’s head is tilted to the side in an attempt to not hit Kurt with the hat, so he lets his hands move up the back of his neck and pulls it off. He nudges Blaine a little with his hip, grateful when Blaine understands the movement and backs off. He lets his fingers curl around the bolo tie slide. Even in this anticipation, he takes a moment to admire the vintage oval, and then he flattens his hand against Blaine’s chest and pushes him towards the bed. 

There’s a quick moment where Blaine is laying back on the bed and Kurt is standing over him, hat by his side in his hand, when it feels like everything catches. Their eyes, the way Blaine’s calves are hooked around his own enough to make it feel like _them_ but not enough to pull him onto the bed, their breaths. And then Kurt, very slowly, very deliberately, lifts his hand and places the hat on his own head. He watches Blaine’s eyes; watches them watch the unrushed movement, watches them seep darker and blow out, watches them make their way to Kurt’s lips in a desperate way. 

Kurt’s pretty confident that Blaine has a cowboy thing, too, now. 

Part of him wants to ask how he’s been since he saw him last even though they’ve talked every day on the phone. He wants to ask how the flight was, and the drive into the city. He wants to ask how long they have and if he’s eaten any Halloween candy today because he tasted sugar in their kiss before. But Blaine says, “ _Kurt,_ ” and it’s a plea, so none of that matters for a while. 

Kurt starts to climb onto the bed and Blaine shuffles back as he does, giving him room to settle over him comfortably. This time Blaine takes the hat off, but it ends up on the floor, well and truly discarded. He pulls at Kurt’s sweater, prompting him to move closer and he feels a little silly that he’s not in a costume; he feels underdressed and that’s not a common occurrence. There’s another tug from the hand still clasped around his sweater, but the tug pulls the sweater off completely and Kurt decides it doesn’t matter that he’s not wearing a costume. It seems like it wouldn’t be staying on for very long even if he was. 

Somewhere in his brain, he registers the fact that he should probably start taking Blaine’s clothes off too, but he can’t help himself: he leans over his body entirely and kisses him, missing the sugar. It doesn’t stay sweet for long, though, because Blaine’s hands move to Kurt’s back and dig at the skin there. He’s desperate. Kurt can feel it in every touch, every kiss they’re now sharing, every small noise that escapes from his mouth when Kurt licks at the curve of his neck. 

“What do you want?” Kurt asks, and usually there’s a little more build up before one of them whispers those words, but he’s not in the mood to tease tonight. He just wants to give and take and be there, and maybe that’s greedy, but he’s pretty sure Blaine is feeling greedy, too. 

“I want you,” Blaine says, scratchy, “I need to...” 

Kurt looks down at him, something needy in his eyes and he sort of looks worn out, like maybe he should just let Kurt take control tonight but then Blaine’s hands grip at his hips and flip them over, and okay. Blaine is in control tonight. 

Kurt shivers a little bit because Blaine has taken his jeans off and the window is still ajar, but he forgets about the cold as soon as Blaine starts to undress himself. He’s not trying to make it a strip show; no corny sex eyes or accompanying dance moves. Just looks at Kurt like he’s missed him as he takes off the Halloween costume he wore just for Kurt and all Kurt can do is watch and marvel. 

There’s a bruise on Blaine’s upper thigh. He notices because Blaine has moved back onto the bed and is straddling him. He lets his fingers dance over it, so lightly that they don’t press and hurt, and he looks up at Blaine with the question in his eyes. 

“I wish it was a cooler story, but I walked into a desk at the offices.” 

Kurt hums; wants to laugh at the clumsiness and cry at the way they know how to mix care in with sex. And there’s more of it – the care – as Blaine lets his thumb fall back and forth over Kurt's cheek. 

“I missed you a lot.” 

And Kurt nods, understands, feels exactly the same. 

Blaine kisses him, lets them get back to where they were, starts rocking into him when they do. It’s so much and not enough because Kurt is still wearing his boxer-briefs and he just wants to _feel_ Blaine. And he’s about to ask, or say something about it, but Blaine seems to read his mind because he pulls them off and reaches over to their bedside table. Kurt can’t help himself; he reaches out and grabs Blaine’s cock while he rummages because it’s right there and he’s sure he can’t be blamed for it. Blaine chuckles, his head hanging for a moment as Kurt’s movements overpower him, before he refocuses his lube-and-condom-finding efforts and comes back to his spot triumphant. 

Kurt shifts, lets his legs fall out for Blaine and waits while his heart starts to beat faster just at the sight of Blaine slicking and heating up his fingers. Kurt closes his eyes. It’s too much to look at when he’s already feeling so much and he has to keep it together. And it’s really not his fault when he cries out, pleasure coursing through every fucking piece of him, because he was expecting fingers and got a mouth around his cock instead. Blaine’s mouth. Which is grinning around it like he one-upped Kurt, knowing what he was expecting and giving him something else. And clearly there _is_ time for tease tonight. 

“I hate you,” he tries to say, but it’s very, very obvious by the ruin in his tone that he definitely does not. His back arches as Blaine quickens his pace, bobbing his head up and down until Kurt is shifting and about to beg and then, finally, there’s fingers. 

He closes his eyes again and lets Blaine have the control he wanted tonight. Lets him open him up, kiss at his shoulders, say his name in a craving way even though he already has all of Kurt. There’s a bite at his bottom lip and then a, “Ready?” 

Kurt nods, opening his eyes to watch as Blaine rolls the condom on himself and tries to find the lube in the bedsheets somewhere. He can’t help but smile at the way he manages to look unbearably sexy and undeniably cute while he does it. Blaine moves back to cover him, kisses him and there’s that greed again, and Kurt feels the pressure at his hole, pushing in slowly. So slowly, and Kurt’s head is spinning a little at the undulating nature of their feeling desperate, and careful, and loving, and possessive all night long. 

Blaine waits, watches Kurt’s face for the smile he knows will come. And then it does, and he starts to move, and they build it together – a house, a building, a fucking city. Or, at least, that’s what it feels like. Like they’re making something tangible and brick and perfect, something they can live in. And Kurt loves this part; the part where Blaine is wild and gone but still Kurt’s, panting and in a race, checking in that Kurt is going to win it or at least tie. It’s all-consuming and skin slapping and dirty, in a way that would normally make Kurt blush, and he knows he won’t ever be able to survive again without it. 

“Kurt, I’m-” 

“Me too, me... I’m-” 

Kurt comes, seeing stars and the moon like earlier in the night but this time there’s no melancholy in it. This night sky is everywhere and sparkling and setting the house they just built on fire. Blaine fucks into him a couple more times, clinging and chanting his name like it’s the only word he knows, and then he’s coming, too. 

They don’t say anything for a while. Kurt feels like the small, lazy pattern that Blaine is drawing on Kurt’s arm says enough. Eventually, Blaine does move and cleans them up and then he puts them to bed, as if either of them have brushed their teeth or washed their faces or actually gotten ready to sleep. 

“I wrote you a song. A new one.” 

“I should hope so,” Kurt teases. “I’d be a little worried if you wrote a whole album and not a single one was about me.” 

“Most of them are about you,” and he reaches out his hand, absentmindedly fiddles with the stray bits of Kurt’s hair that have fallen over his forehead. 

Kurt looks at him and decides to take it seriously. He doesn’t actually expect Blaine to write any songs about him, of course. But it’s still nice to know that he has. Really nice. “Can I hear one?” 

Blaine is quiet for a moment, his fingers stopping their twirling around his hair and coming to rest on Kurt’s chest. And then he starts to hum a melody, almost under his breath, adding words after a couple of bars. 

_Dip me in the moon, please_   
_Just so I can breathe_   
_There is a dreamy crater, sink_   
_to let me seep and dream_   
_and if I find the tides tonight_   
_I guess they’ll be from you_

Blaine glances up at him, checking, aware of the fact that he's pulling himself apart and giving Kurt the pieces. Kurt has his hands open to hold the pieces, listening, loving the way Blaine can sing words and make them mean so much. Blaine keeps going. 

_Soak me with the moon, please_   
_Until I know his beam_   
_Let him put his hands on me_   
_I hope to be his muse_   
_And when I drift and if I pull and should I turn around_   
_Give me to the moon this time_   
_I want to be his man._

Blaine stops then and scrunches up his nose, as if to dismiss it. “That’s all I have so far.” 

“Blaine,” he says, very seriously, “That was so incredibly beautiful, I can’t even comprehend- and, it’s about me?” 

“I want to be his man,” Blaine nods, and it’s sung in the right melody. 

And Kurt smiles, because he is, and he always will be. And vice-versa. 


End file.
